


The Light Which Once Burned

by The13thBlackCat



Series: Maker, Know My Heart [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13thBlackCat/pseuds/The13thBlackCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kirkwall, Cullen thought he would never see Maenfen again...until Cassandra introduced him to the Herald of Andraste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   Cullen stared up at the hole in the sky, knowing it should be his biggest worry right now and painfully aware that it wasn't. It was _a_ concern--in the background, somewhere, unimportant right now.

   "Ser Cullen."

   He started and his head jerked around at his name, and for a moment he froze, his breath catching in his throat. He forced himself to swallow after a moment, realizing he was staring.

   "Maenfen," he said, quieter than he meant, almost a whisper. _And there it was: his biggest concern. Not a hole in the sky, but an elven mage._

   Maenfen smiled for a moment, hesitant, and reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. It still fell to his shoulders, but it was no longer brushed back from his face, straight and meticulously perfect. Instead, it had a loose, slightly tousled look, and it seemed a shade or two lighter than Cullen remembered it. The way he held himself was different, too: steadier, more confident. He no longer glanced over his shoulder like he expected someone lurking at his back. Maybe it was just the chill, but there seemed to be more color to his cheeks than Cullen was used to, and he actually looked like he’d slept in the past few days.

   He looked amazing.

   "I suppose I shouldn't call you 'ser' anymore, though," the elf was muttering, mostly to himself, "or are you still a knight? I have trouble keeping track of you humans and your titles, honestly. Elves don’t get any, you know. Mages get a few, but I didn’t."

   "You can call me whatever you like, Mae," Cullen answered before he could stop himself, trying not to stare too obviously. But Maker, he was so _different_ now. Except for the eyes—they were the same, big and blue as the midday sky against his dark skin and hair. Inwardly, he cringed when he finally realized what he’d called the elf— _Mae,_ too informal and personal—but Maenfen's ears only flicked, and he didn't seem to take offense at the nickname. _Thank the Maker for small mercies._

   "I think 'Cullen' will probably do," he said after a moment, walking over to stand next to Cullen, too close and not close enough. He carried a staff, now—how odd was it, that Cullen couldn't remember seeing him with a staff before, even though he was a mage?—and he clasped his hands around it, leaning on it a little in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Aetir. He looked so relaxed and at ease and like an entirely different man than the one Cullen remembered. It was like someone had tried to copy Maenfen, but made him happier, calmer…better. Was this really the same man Cullen had sent away from Kirkwall for his own safety two years ago?

   Cullen cleared his throat, realizing he was supposed to be saying something. Scramble as he might, he couldn't think of a reply that was good enough, so instead, he said only, "Ah...if you'd like, herald."

   Maenfen straightened abruptly, turning slightly to look at him. "Oh, not you too," he began, exasperated. "Please, Cullen. 'Maenfen' is fine. The Maker knows I don't want _anyone_ calling me that. I'm not the herald of _anything._ Especially to you, of all people."

   He cleared his throat before Cullen could answer, looking away. "Which...brings me to the reason I asked you to meet me out here. I..."

   He took a breath, shaking his head a little. Cullen said nothing, trying his best to ignore the urgent, anxious thumping in his chest. Whatever Maenfen had wanted to discuss, it was surely nothing to worry over. Right?

   "Cullen, I'm trying to broach this as delicately as I can, I promise," Maenfen began, and Cullen wondered when _he_ \--the ornery, difficult mage who made a habit of doing what he shouldn't and going where he shouldn't out of sheer _spite_ \--had become so concerned with being polite. "But...we have a past, Cullen. You know that just as well as I do. So we should...clear the air, I think."

   Cullen cleared his throat quietly, adjusting his stance a little and glancing away from Maenfen. _Oh. This._ He hadn't even had _time_ to figure out how they were going to address... _that_. Or if they even should, after...after everything that had happened.

   "Right. Of course." He took a breath. "You're...probably right."

   Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maenfen nod. "Right. Cullen, look. I'm not going to dodge around this. I...still care about you. But it's been two years, and a lot has changed. I don't..."

   Cullen tried not to fidget as Maenfen trailed off and took a breath, his mind racing as he tried to take that in. _He still cared?_ After Kirkwall, Cullen had fully expected never to see the elf again, and he'd done his best not to think about him too much, because he knew Aetir would keep him safe, and dwelling would do nobody any good. He had also expected Maenfen would forget about him, away from Kirkwall and under Aetir's sheltering wing. He wouldn't have dared to presume that whatever they'd had in Kirkwall would last.

   But, apparently, it had. In some form or another.

   "Anyway," Maenfen continued, "with the world ending and us the only thing trying to stop it, I think it might be better to...wipe the slate clean, I suppose? Start fresh?" He looked up. "I mean, I'm not saying we have to eventually..." He trailed off for a moment with an awkward shrug. "But, well. I'd just like to get this out of the way, I guess. So it's not hanging over our heads."

   Cullen let out a breath, nodding. _Good. That was...good._ "That's...probably the best idea, honestly." He laughed, short and a bit nervous. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

   Maenfen's shoulders dropped a little and he let out a breath of relief. "Oh, are we? Good, I wasn't sure. Right. So, we'll worry about this after we save the world, then?"

   Cullen smiled briefly, though it faded when he looked back up at the sky.

   "I suppose so."


	2. Chapter 2

   Cullen realized he was staring after a moment, and he glanced away, flustered.

   His attention was drawn again when he heard Maenfen laugh, and he looked back up to find the elf grinning about something as he talked to Bull, near the stables. For a moment, Cullen’s breath caught, and he swallowed. He couldn’t remember seeing Maenfen look so _happy_ before, or so animated. He’d been so much different in Kirkwall; quieter, suspicious, and making every effort to avoid notice as much as possible. He certainly didn’t remember him _smiling_ so much there, and he always seemed to be, now. Actually, Cullen couldn’t remember him making his emotions known at _all_ in Kirkwall, if he could help it. He’d never been sure of anything Maenfen was thinking, then, because the elf had always been so careful to hide it. _Never give anything away, because it can be used against you,_ Cullen thought, his brows drawing together a bit. He knew what that felt like.

   But now he was… _Maker_ , he was so _different._ Cullen had realized it the second Cassandra introduced them—it was so obvious just from _looking_ at him that he was different—but, somehow, he’d expected things to even out, once the shock of _seeing_ Maenfen again left. He couldn’t have truly changed that much, surely. He was, after all, still _Maenfen._

   And yet, every day seemed to be another reminder that he _wasn’t_ , not really, not the Maenfen Cullen had known. And somehow, he didn’t mind at all; it wasn’t easy, having to constantly remind himself that Maenfen was apparently a _completely different person_ now, but he liked the new Maenfen better. He seemed much happier.

   He swallowed, then dragged his eyes away from the elf again when he turned away from Bull, trying to focus on the recruits in front of him. He had a job he was supposed to be doing, and staring at Maenfen was not it.

   He was concentrating so hard on not thinking about Maenfen, though, that he couldn’t really remember what he _was_ doing—not until his eyes drifted a few moments later, and he saw Maenfen talking to Cassandra. He let out a little breath, stopping for a moment. _I can’t imagine that going well._ Different as Maenfen was, surely the elf wouldn’t get along well with the Seeker; Cassandra was an opinionated woman, and Cullen knew for a fact she had several opinions Maenfen wouldn’t agree with. She also tended to be brash, and Cullen had the impression that they hadn’t started off well; considering what he knew of how they’d found Maenfen in the first place, he could guess how it had gone. Maenfen often responded to hostility by lashing out, and he’d been spiteful and brash himself, once. Cullen didn’t know if that had changed.

   He found himself turning, drifting a little closer to them. In the back of his mind, he realized it was just an excuse to get closer to Maenfen, but he told himself it wasn’t, not _really._ If anything, he was just making sure he was close in case something...happened. 

   Whatever they were discussing, it seemed polite enough, but Cullen only caught the tail end of their conversation. When Maenfen mentioned letting Cassandra get back to her duties, she gave a little nod, answered, “another time, herald,” and turned away from him. _She_ didn’t see the way Maenfen’s ears lowered and the little flicker of a scowl across his face, but Cullen did, just for a moment, before the elf headed past Cassandra and towards Haven’s frozen lake.

   It wasn’t surprising, really. Maenfen had already made it clear that he didn’t consider what had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to be any work of Andraste or the Maker, and besides, Cullen doubted he wanted any association with the Chantry, given his history. He frowned at Maenfen’s back for a moment, wondering.

   The elf stopped at the edge of a rise, leaning on his staff a little and looking down towards the lake. Cullen wondered what he was thinking.

   After a few moments, he took a breath, then started towards him.

   “Maenfen.”

   The elf looked up, ears flicking. “Oh, Cullen. Hello.” He looked back down towards the lake, and for a moment Cullen followed his gaze—and blinked a few times.

   From here, he could just make out what appeared to be the two Dalish, at the far dock. Ariawyn was on the frozen surface of the lake, gesturing, and Adalmis at the dock itself. From his stance, he looked like he was probably scolding her—and after a moment, she turned, then slipped and fell onto the ice.

   “What are they doing?”

   The question was out before Cullen could catch himself, and Maenfen laughed shortly, making Cullen’s chest clench for a second. He had always loved Maenfen’s laugh, as rarely as he’d heard it in Kirkwall, but it was actually _better_ now; he did it more often, and it wasn’t as quiet and subdued.

   “I have no idea. But I’m sure they…have it handled.” He sighed, then added, “I hope we’re not going to have to send someone down to fish her out of the lake soon…”

   Before Cullen could answer, he looked up. “Was there something you needed, Cullen?”

   Cullen shook his head, clearing his throat a little as he pulled his attention away from the Dalish. “I…had a question for you, Maenfen. If you don’t mind.”

   Maenfen cocked his head, looking at Cullen with bright eyes and pricking his ears. “Hmm?” He had a distracting little smile on his face, and Cullen tried not to focus on his lips too much. He let out a breath.

   “You don’t believe you’re the herald of Andraste.”

   The elf’s ears twitched, then dropped. He looked back down at the Dalish again. “No. I don’t.” He said it simply, without any inflection in his voice that gave a hint as to what he thought of it. Cullen frowned for a moment, wondering if he should continue.

   “…do you believe in the Maker?”

   Maenfen looked up again, blinking…but then he smiled, soft and amused. “This is coming from _you_ , ser?”

   Cullen wasn’t sure what to make of that, and he pursed his lips for a moment. “I…I’ve never asked, before.” _Not that I had much reason to._ “I suppose I just assumed, but…”

 _And why not?_ Maenfen wasn’t Dalish, after all—and unlike Aetir, he wouldn’t have _been_ raised Dalish if not for circumstance—so what other option was there, here in the south? It was hardly as if the Qun had come to this part of Thedas, except for what had happened in Kirkwall.

 _What had happened in…_ Cullen shook his head a little at the thought, realizing how ridiculous it was. Maenfen had been in the Circle most of the time in Kirkwall, and besides, he was a mage. The Qunari weren’t kind to mages, as he understood it, and Maenfen was far too willful to even consider something more confining than the Circle had been, besides. Anyway, _could_ mages even convert to the Qun? From what he understood of the Qunari, it seemed most likely they would never be able to trust a foreign mage, and would probably kill them on principle.

   Maenfen sighed softly, cutting his thoughts off. “I…I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I spent the first five years of my life in a Chantry orphanage, then I grew up in a Circle…I suppose I should, probably. But…” He paused for a moment. “How can I, Cullen?” His voice grew very soft, and he added, “The Maker certainly never answered my prayers.”

   Cullen swallowed at that, frowning down at the Dalish, still on the lake. He wasn’t sure he had an answer for Maenfen, and he wasn’t sure he should have given it even if he did. He was curious, not looking to start an argument.

   “Do you not believe in anything, then?” He kept his voice soft, trying not to sound like he was judging. After all, Maenfen _wasn’t_ Dalish, and he didn’t _seem_ to have any particular affinity for the elvish gods, but some city elves did. It wasn’t _likely_ , but…

   “Not in a god, at least,” he answered. “Why should I? None of them have given me a reason to. People, things I _know_ are real…those are easier to believe in.” He chuckled, then added, “Mind, if the Maker or Mythal or one of the Avaar’s nature gods or _whoever_ shows up in person to tell me they exist, well, I’d probably have to readjust my opinions…but for now? No.”

   “I see.” Strangely, there was something comforting in Maenfen’s answer, and Cullen could at least understand it. He nodded, quiet for a moment.

   “Then, if you don’t think the mark is divine…where did it come from?” Plenty of theories on its origin had been thrown about, but Cullen ignored most of them, unless they suggested the mark might be a legitimate danger to its bearer; he had more important things to worry about that what-ifs and ideas with little grounding in reality. Wherever it had come from, they would probably find out eventually, but even if they didn’t, he wasn’t sure how much it would actually matter.

   But, he realized, he’d never actually heard _Maenfen’s_ thoughts on it. For the most part, he seemed to agree with Cullen—its origin was not nearly as important as what it could, or would, do—but there must be more. You didn’t wake up with a glowing slash in your hand one day and _not_ wonder where it came from.

   “…I don’t know.” Maenfen held out his left hand, turning it thoughtfully. The mark glowed with eerie green light, dimmed a little by his glove, but still entirely visible. “But it’s…it has this _feel_ to it, Cullen, like magic. A kind I don’t understand, but…” He trailed off. “I could be entirely wrong, of course. But if I had to guess, that’s what I would call it. Some kind of magic, nothing more.” He sighed, closing his hand. “Solas doesn’t know much. The best he could say was that it felt like the Fade…which isn’t really surprising, since it can close rifts.”

   Cullen tilted his head, his eyes going to Maenfen’s hand, glowing brightly. After a moment, he asked, “May I?”

   Maenfen looked up at him in surprise, cocked his head and gave a little flick of his ears, then held his hand out, his expression unreadable. Cullen took it gently—Maenfen said it didn’t bother him anymore, but it had hurt, once—and ran his thumb across the elf’s palm, gazing down at the slash of light.

   He could feel it under his touch, just barely. It wasn’t much—a faint pulse under his thumb and against his fingers, probably muffled by their gloves—but it had a sort of distant familiarity to it that he couldn’t quite place, like a memory he couldn’t fully recall. No doubt, it was much stronger for Maenfen—he was, after all, a _mage,_ and the mark was in _his_ hand besides—but he thought he could tell what the elf meant by it feeling like magic.

   He realized after a few moments that he’d been absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb against Maenfen’s palm, tracing the line of the mark; he jerked his eyes up guiltily to see if Maenfen had noticed, uncomfortably aware of the heat rising to his cheeks. Their eyes met—Maenfen had a guarded sort of expression, softer than it had ever looked in Kirkwall—and they pulled apart almost at the same time, a little too quickly. Cullen cleared his throat, deliberately looking away.

 _Later, Cullen. **Later.**_ He wasn’t very good at trying to pretend nothing had happened between them in the past, like they’d agreed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a short breath and reaching up to rub the back of his neck. _The Breach. Worry about that first. Worry about this **later.**_

   “I…I see what you mean,” he said finally, trying to remember what they’d been discussing before… _that_ …happened. “I mean. I think I do.” _Because I’m not a mage,_ he added in his head.

   Maenfen let out a little laugh, but it seemed a little bit awkward, this time. “Yes, well, I’m…sure it’s much easier for me to feel. I mean, it’s _my_ hand, after all.” He cleared his throat, then said, “Well, if that’s all, someone better go make sure Ariawyn doesn’t fall into the lake, I guess. And…I’m sure you have something to be doing, so I shouldn’t distract you.”

 _You’re not distracting,_ Cullen began in his head, but he cut himself off before he could start to say it aloud. He exhaled shortly.

   “Right. Of course.” He took a step back, nodding to Maenfen. “I’ll, ah…let you get to it, then?”

   Maenfen just answered him with another little laugh—less awkward—before giving a slight wave and starting off down the rise, towards the lake.

   Cullen paused for a moment to watch him go, letting out a slow breath. He sighed finally, shaking his head, and turned away.

**_Later._ **


End file.
